


Character Ability: Heal

by engine



Series: Somniari [1]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragon Age Fusion, Illustrated, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Slash, Tending to injuries, Unresolved Sexual Tension, minor references to injuries and blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:00:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25338766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/engine/pseuds/engine
Summary: “It’s not bleeding,” Ronan said, dropping his pauldrons to the floor beside his gauntlets. It clanged against the stone floor. Adam winced at the sound but moved closer, gesturing for Ronan to turn around. After a moment, Ronan did.“It could still get infected,” Adam said.
Relationships: Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Series: Somniari [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1841743
Comments: 7
Kudos: 68





	Character Ability: Heal

**Author's Note:**

> happy 40th fic post to me, with the most on brand short thing ever: a dragon age AU with an attached illustration. the working title was "the inherent eroticism of tending someone's wounds" which should tell you everything you need to know. 
> 
> for my fellow nerds, this follows dragon age origins classes more than later games; ronan is a human grey warden arcane warrior, and adam is a city elf mage with a healing/spirit focus. (not pictured in the fic: gansey, grey warden ex-templar warrior and DAO main character, blue, dalish archer rogue, and noah, who is basically just cole.)

“You’re still hurt.”

Ronan’s jaw clenched as he half-turned, midway through trying to reach the clasps on his armor. It hadn’t been working very well. They’d run into a band of Darkspawn on the road to Denerim, and despite the quick healing spells Adam had managed, Ronan had felt the ragged edges of a stab wound the rest of the trip. As soon as they’d reached the city, Ronan had slunk off to the inn rather than accompany Blue and Gansey to the marketplace, hoping to at least get some bandages on whatever injury remained. 

Apparently, Adam had changed his mind about going with them. 

“I thought you were going to the shops,” Ronan muttered, finally managing to tug one of the clasps loose with a wince. From the doorway, Adam frowned, watching Ronan carefully. 

“I asked Gansey to look for a couple books,” Adam said. Ronan managed another clasp, and something on his face must have shown his discomfort, because Adam’s expression pinched before he stepped inside, slamming the door behind him. “You should have _said_ something. I’m capable of casting more spells, you know.”

Ronan did know. He was extremely aware of just how good at casting spells Adam was. Sometimes, during battle, he could _feel_ the graceful and effortless way Adam drew on the Fade and had to force himself not to stare.

“It’s not bleeding,” Ronan said, dropping his pauldrons to the floor beside his gauntlets. It clanged against the stone floor. Adam winced at the sound but moved closer, gesturing for Ronan to turn around. After a moment, Ronan did. 

“It could still get infected,” Adam said, undoing the buckles of Ronan’s breastplate with efficiency. He helped Ronan shrug it off, humming as he got a better view of where the injury was. Somehow one of the Darkspawn had wedged its spiked sword beneath the armor and across Ronan’s ribs, slicing through the leather and quilting of his coat. Dried blood had soaked through the layers of clothes, obscuring the wound. Adam’s spell earlier had made it feel older, as if it had been days rather than hours, but he’d known it wouldn’t be pretty. 

Adam traced the edge of the torn fabric with his fingers, feeling where the blood had glued it to Ronan’s skin. “It’ll reopen when you take this off.”

That was really the least of Ronan’s current worries. “I’ve had worse,” he grumbled, because it was true, but Adam simply pressed his fingers against the wound as if to punctuate his point. Ronan winced again.

“I’ll get some bandages. We should cover it, even with healing,” Adam said, his hand falling away. Ronan didn’t turn around until he heard the door shut—softly this time—as Adam went to find the proprietor in search of supplies.

Trying not to think of Adam’s hands, Ronan undid the buttons on his coat, quickly tugging it off to get the worst over with. He felt the wound reopen, blood seeping into his undershirt, and he pulled that off quickly too, before the bleeding got worse. The undershirt was done for, half of it stained through with dried blood, but his coat might still be saved; he inspected the sliced fabric, wondering if this was something Adam could fix, or if he’d have to go to the armorer while they were still in civilization.

He pressed the ruined undershirt against the cut, letting it soak up the fresh blood, the sharp bite of pain proof, as always, that he was somehow still alive. 

The door creaked open again, and Adam reappeared, balancing a bowl of water, some rags, and a coil of bandages in his hands. When he caught sight of Ronan, he frowned, kicking the door shut behind him.

“You really should’ve said something,” he repeated, placing all the supplies on the small writing desk wedged between the two small beds. He gestured for Ronan, reaching out for the shirt when Ronan was close. Ronan leaned against the desk, arm half raised so Adam could peel the fabric away and get a good look at the bleeding. 

It wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been—half the scab was still there—but it was angry red around the uneven edges, and Ronan knew if he wasn’t already a Warden, there was no chance he’d have survived this. Adam knew it too, judging by how he froze, expression carefully blank. After a moment, Adam sighed, tossing the now entirely ruined shirt to the floor. He didn’t say anything, just pressed his hands against Ronan’s skin on either side of the wound, warm and steady. Healing magic welled up within him, his hands glowing with soft blue light. Adam stared down at the wound as he worked, and Ronan stared at Adam, at his high cheekbones and his tired eyes and the slight flush coloring his skin. 

Both of them knew this wasn’t necessary. Adam cast healing spells constantly during battle, and none of them required touch, but there wasn’t a single thing that could’ve made Ronan point that out.

The spell faded, but Adam didn’t move his hands for a moment, eyebrows pinched together as he inspected his work. Finally, satisfied, he removed his hands from Ronan’s skin, picking up a clean rag and soaking it in the bowl of water. He was still standing close enough for Ronan to feel his body heat, making an absolute mess of Ronan’s ability to string together coherent thought.

“I can’t heal it completely, because of the Darkspawn poison,” Adam said, his voice quiet, strangely intimate. He started cleaning away the blood around the new scabbing, more gently than necessary, warm water and warm hands pressed to Ronan’s ribs. “The bandages will help keep your armor from reopening it. I can try again tomorrow.”

Ronan nodded, and Adam glanced up at him briefly before looking back down at what he was doing. That slight betrayal of his—uncertainty? Apprehension? Ronan wasn’t sure what it was, but it made his heart beat a little faster; he wondered if Adam could feel it.

Finally satisfied at getting the blood from Ronan’s skin, Adam dried the area with the second rag before beginning the process of wrapping it with a bandage. Every time he reached around Ronan for the end of the linen, it brought them agonizingly close together, and Ronan continued to stare at the pink coloring Adam’s cheeks despite his carefully neutral expression. Finally, Adam tied the bandage off, tucking in the loose ends, and looked up at Ronan.

“Thanks,” Ronan managed after a few seconds where he couldn’t get his voice to work. Adam smiled, just a bit, and finally stepped back.

“Let me know if it’s uncomfortable,” Adam said, bending down to pick up the ruined shirt along with the half-empty bowl and soiled rags. “Just because you like to suffer doesn’t mean you should.”

“Yeah, yeah, fuck off,” Ronan said, smiling his usual sarcastic smile; Adam rolled his eyes and once again left the room, presumably to throw out the ruined shirt and return the rest to the inn. When he was gone, Ronan put his own hand against the bandage, against the remaining evidence of his wound, and took a deep breathe. Inhale; hold; exhale.

He could breathe again, with Adam gone; he just wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to.


End file.
